


Blind But I Can Still See You

by Masterless



Category: Shameless - Fandom
Genre: Blindness, Canon Divergence, Fluff, Gallavich, Ian had a concussion, Ian's POV, Lots of Gallavich, Lovey Dovey, M/M, No Svetlana and Yev, angst towards the beginning, blind!mickey, car crash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-29
Updated: 2015-08-07
Packaged: 2018-03-26 06:43:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 8,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3840943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Masterless/pseuds/Masterless
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It stated out as a good idea. Mickey and Ian went for a run in the rain. But throw in a torrential down pour, a car, and slippy roads, and something bad is bound to happen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Good Idea, Mickey

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry that this is so bad. Please forgive me.

It was a rainy day, Mickey leaning against me as we watched TV. His head was resting on my shoulder, hair tickling my chin. I ran my hand over his shoulder, placing a kiss on the crown of his head.  
“What’s up, fire crotch?” he asked. “You okay?”  
“Yeah,” I sighed. “I just don’t like the rain. I can’t go for a run.”  
Mickey shifted and stood, pulling on my hand. “Come on. Put on your shoes.”  
“What?” I asked, following him to the shoes lined up neatly in front of the door, and then out into the downpour. “What are we doing?”  
“Going for a jog!” Mickey shouted, smiling widely. “I don’t wanna put up with your mopey ass because you can’t go for a fucking run. Come on!”  
Mickey set off down the street, feet slapping in puddles, sending water up his legs. With a laugh, I set off after him, my legs pumping fast beneath me to catch up with him. I slowed as I got to him, and heard that he was laughing, smiling up at the sky, rain splashing coldly on his face. We ran until our legs stung and our lungs burned, finding ourselves outside the Gallagher house. Mickey was leaning against the fence, panting, bent over with his hands on his knees.  
“I need to stop smoking,” he gasped, coughing viciously.  
I slid to the pavement next to him, looking at his rain soaked hair plastered to his forehead. “I do, too.”  
“You don’t smoke as much as me.” He sat next to me, shaking his head and placing a hand over his chest. “Jesus fucking Christ, I think I’m gonna puke.”  
I laughed, pushing him away from me. “Puke over there.”  
He stood shakily, holding out a hand for me. “We better get home.”  
I heard the door behind us open. “You guys okay?” It was Lip. “You’re gonna get sick.”  
“We’re on our way home now,” I said.  
“Let me give you a ride.”  
We all piled into Lip’s car, Mickey sat behind Lip in the drivers seat. The rain pelted down on the roof loud over Amanda’s music.  
“I thought we were the gay ones,” Mickey chuckled, causing me to laugh.  
“Yeah, yeah,” Lip said, concentrating on the road. “Fuck off.”  
We drove in silence for a short while, listening to the whiny singer struggle to compete with the sound of the rain. There was nothing to watch, so I closed my eyes and leaned back against my seat. Lip muttered profanities under his breath, changing the speed of the windshield wipers to the highest speed.  
“Jesus, it’s a downpour out there,” Mickey muttered.  
“Yes, I’ve noticed that, Mickey,” Lip said, glaring at the rain.  
I felt the car swerve, and Lip yelled out in vain as he tried to get control of the car again. Mickey latched a hand on my shoulder just as the vehicle flipped and skidded along the pavement. I felt strangely weightless, the bottom of my stomach dropping out, the seat belt the only thing keeping me in place. My head collided with the door frame, tendrils of pain blossoming on my scalp. There was the crunch of metal, and the shattering of glass, cutting into my cheeks and forehead. Then there was nothing.


	2. Where's Mickey?

I woke up in the hospital, Lip sat nervously in the seat next to my bed. I looked around slowly, wanting the bright lights to dim and the quiet room to be filled with noise. It took me a second to notice that someone was missing. I looked over at Lip, who was biting his nail.  
“Where’s Mickey?” I croaked.  
“Ian!” Lip looked up at me, rushing to stand next to my bed, taking my hand. “You’re awake! Oh, I thought… Well, never mind that. I’ll go get Fi.”  
I clamped down on his hand, halting him. “Where’s Mickey?”  
Lip sighed, rubbing his free hand over his eyes. “He’s, uh… he’s in the ICU.”  
I sat up, feeling a throbbing pain bloom in my head. I swayed, grabbing my head in both my hands. “Whoa.”  
Lip was by my side again, hands on my right shoulder and arm, steadying me. “Ian? Hey, lay down again.”  
“No,” I protested, pushing him away. “Why is Mickey in the ICU?”  
Lip sighed through his nose again, plopping back down in his chair. “He got hurt. Bad. He was unconscious when they brought us in, like you. The car took the most damage on the side you guys were in, and he got cut up pretty bad. There was blood all over you two, I thought you’d… I thought you’d both died.”  
“Is he gonna be okay?” I asked.  
Lip shrugged, looking down at the floor. “They won’t let us in since we’re not family. I… Ian, you have to know, I didn’t mean for that to happen.”  
A pang of guilt cut through my worry. I should have seen how worried Lip looked, how shaken up he seemed.  
“It wasn’t your fault,” I said. I put my hand on his shoulder, shaking him a little. “It’s not your fault.”  
Lip look up at me, and it was the first time in a long time I saw my brother crying. “I thought I’d lost you.”  
Fiona walked into the room, looking down at a few magazines she was holding. “I can’t tell which he’d like more. Sports Illustrated, or maybe the Health maga- Ian!” She rushed to my side, taking my hand and putting her other one on my face. I winced slightly at the sensation, her fingers catching on some of the scratched. “You’re awake!”  
“Yep,” I said, obviously. “How do I look?”  
“You look fine,” Fiona mothered. “You had to get some stitched on your forehead, and one of your jaw, but as long as you don’t pick at them, they won't leave too much of a scar. And you had to get some more stitches on your arm and shoulder, but they’ll heal up, too. The doctor will want to talk to you. Oh… Um, I’ll go get him.”  
Fiona lingered for a few seconds, and then left with a look over her shoulder, as if I was going to disappear. Lip took my hand again, running his free hand under his nose and across his face.  
“I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “I’m really sorry.”  
“Don’t be,” I replied. “I just hope Mickey’s going to be okay.”  
After the doctor looked me over, he said that I had a minor concussion, but he’d like me to stay overnight at the hospital to make sure none of my stitches popped. He gave me a hospital gown to change into, seeing as my clothes were ripped and covered in blood - hopefully just my own. I saw, upon taking off my pants, that I had cuts and bruises all up my right side, a large purple stain against the pale skin of my hip. It ached, my hip, and I walked a little stiffly, slower than I liked. My shoulder, arm, ribs, and hip were had all come out of the accident worse for wear, but, in the long run, I had made it out practically unscathed.  
I settled down in the bed, flipping through the magazines Fiona had brought in. She and Lip kept fluttering about, asking me if I was comfortable enough. I answered that yes, I was, but my head was pounding and my thoughts were elsewhere.  
“Is Mickey still down in ICU?” I asked Lip after Fiona had finished her sentence.  
“Yeah, buddy,” Lip answered. “He’s still down there.”  
“Why?”  
“They think that there’s been some damage to his brain,” Fiona explained. “And he lost a lot of blood.”  
I slumped back in the bed, worry banging around in my head. He had to be alright. Mickey had to be alright. If he wasn’t… I didn’t want to think about it. What would I do? We had just started this new life together. What the hell was happening down there? Was he even alive?  
“Ian?” Fiona pulled me out of my thoughts. “He’s going to be alright.”  
He’s going to be alright.   
He has to be.


	3. I Can't Fucking See

I was sitting next to Mickey’s bed. I had never seen him look so pale, so fragile. I know Mickey would scoff at me calling him that, but he looked so small. He had cuts and bruises all up the left side of his body, like me, but he looked worse off than I was. He was worse off than I was. His hand was limp and cold in mine, fingers feeling heavy and weightless in my hand all at once.  
Mickey had been moved out of ICU when he’d become stable. I let out a huff of a laugh. That word seemed to have invaded our lives recently. I was stable on my meds. The Milkovich household was stable now that Terry was in jail for life. The Gallagher household was stable now that Frank had finally fucked off for good. Mickey was now stable after a successful blood transplant.  
I brought his hand to my lips, kissing over bruised knuckles and inked fingers, tears stinging at the corners of my eyes. I started to shake, sobs escaping my throat as I sat there, wanting none of this to have happened. I kept Mickey’s hand pressed to my cheek, feeling the cold of his skin cooling the heat of mine. I sniffled, ugly sounds escaping from me,  
“Oh, Mickey,” I warbled. “Wake up soon. I need you to wake up. Mickey, please…”  
I clasped his hand tighter in mine, so tight that I nearly missed the twitch of his fingers.  
“Mickey?” I breathed, not allowing myself to even hope for a second. “Mick, can you hear me?”  
Mickey scrunched up his face, squeezing my fingers lightly. His voice sounded rust, unused. “Yeah. I can…”  
I shot up out of my seat, cupping his face in my hands and leaning down to smother him with kisses. His lips were dry and cracked, his skin soft beneath my fingers, stitches rough against my hands.  
“I love you,” I repeated constantly onto his lips. “I love you, I love you.”  
Mickey laughed quietly, pushing me away gently. “Hey, now, get up, I need to breath.”  
I sat on the edge of his bed, watching his peaceful face. He yawned widely, eyes and nose scrunching, before settling back down in the bed and opening his eyes. There was a flicker of confusion on his face, then a moment of panic mixed with horror. He scrambled for my hand, clinging to me tightly.  
“Mickey?” I asked, standing up and taking hold of both of his hands. “Mickey, what's wrong?”  
“I can’t…” he started before squeezing his eyes shut and then opening them again. “I can’t see. I can’t fucking see.”  
I pressed down hard on the nurse call button, shifting to sit down next to Mickey, and pulling him into my arms. His head fit snugly under my chin, his arms and hands wrapping around me in a desperate plea to keep me close.  
“Oh, fuck,” became Mickey’s montra. He leaned heavily against me, and i pressed the call button again, impatient.  
There was a huffing sound from near the door, and an angry looking nurse shuffled into the room. Her anger turned to shock and then worry as she saw Mickey, tough guy extraordinaire, awake and clutching on to me like a drowning man. She rushed to his side, checking for visible signs of distress. Finding none, she quickly exited the room, but soon returned with a doctor, who took one look at the situation and ordered me out of the room.  
“What?” Mickey asked, his fingers digging into my shirt and skin. “Don't you fucking leave, Ian. Don’t you fucking leave.”  
“I can’t have him in the room, Michael,” the doctor said softly. “No one under 18 can be in here with you right now.”  
“I don’t ficking care!” Mickey yelled. “He’s not fucking leaving!”  
I gripped Mickey tightly, pulling him closer to my body. “Please,” I begged. “He needs me right now.”  
The doctor shook his head. “I’m sorry. You have to leave.”  
Mickey looked close to tears, which was shocking to me. He was really frightened. “Don’t make him leave…” his voice was weak, his throat clogged and his face going red. “Please…”  
It nearly broke my heart to see Mickey so upset and scared. The doctor put his head in his hands, mumbled a few curses, and finally nodded.  
“Fine.” He waved his hand at me. “But you have to stay out of the way. Over there.” He pointed to a chair in the corner of the room.  
I stood, carefully extracting myself from Mickey. “I’m right here,” I told him, sitting in the chair. I felt separated, sent to the corner like a bad little boy. “I’m still here.”  
The doctor examined Mickey, who flinched every time the doctor touched him. He occasionally called my name, and I answered back. I had never seen Mickey like this. He was normally so brave and fierce. He was strong and self reliant and my tiny little thug, but all that was about to change.  
I knew, though, deep down in my soul and high up in my heart, that I would take care of him.


	4. He'd Be Pissed, But Alright

Mandy had come to visit, and she and I stood with the doctor outside Mickey’s room.  
“There’s been damage to his nervous system and parts of his brain,” the doctor explained gravely. “There was a chance it would be temporary, but if so, it would have passed already. I’m afraid he won’t get his sight back.”  
Mandy slumped back against the wall, arms crossed over her chest, brows furrowed, bottom lip stuck out, her trying-not-to-cry face. She met my eyes, and I knew we were both thinking the same things. Firstly, that Mickey was going to hate this and probably throw a hissy fit when we got home, and secondly, that we would do whatever we could to take care of him. The doctor was speaking again.  
“He also has a minor concussion, like you, Mr. Gallagher,” he said, “so I know he’ll be in good hands when you get him home. He should be alright.”  
“He’s gonna be pissed,” Mandy said, “but he’ll be okay.”  
We walked back into the room, where Mickey was sat, picking at the skin around his nails. His head came up, and his nose twitched as if taking a breath in.  
“Ian?” he asked.  
“Yeah,” I said. “How’d you know?”  
Mickey blushed, and bowed his head. “You’re shampoo.”  
“I haven’t had a shower since the day of the crash,” I admitted guiltily. “I don’t smell that good.”  
“He stinks,” Mandy agreed. “Like, really badly.”  
“Thanks, Mands.”  
Mickey smiled. “No, it’s still their. Not that strongly, but it’s there.”  
I nudged him over so I could sit next to him, and Mickey leaned into me when I did. He took my hand and ran his fingers over it. He sighed through his nose and rested his head on my shoulders  
“I’ll never forget the feeling of these,” Mickey mumbled. “As gay as that sounds.”  
“That’s fine,” I said. “You be gay.”  
Mickey snorted. “I don’t want to forget your face.”  
I was quiet, looking over at Mandy, who had tears in her eyes. She brushed them away, and smiled softly at me.  
“Is Mandy still here?” Mickey asked.  
“Yeah, Mick,” she said. “I’m here.”  
“Can you get me some food that doesn’t taste like shit?” He crinkled his nose. “Hospital food fucking sucks.”  
We all laughed, and it felt like a little bubble had popped. We all felt at that moment, that we’d be okay.


	5. Okay Firecrotch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sorry this is so late and short  
> Like, it's super short.  
> I will have another (longer) chapter up hopefully sometime this weeks.  
> Sorry

Mickey frowned in my general direction when the doctor left.  
"Forever?" he repeated. "I'm gonna be blind forever."  
"Well, there is a chance that it could pass," I said optimistically. "You could see again."  
"Ian," Mickey sighed. "You know that ain't gonna happen."  
I say on silence. "We get to go home soon, though. That's good."  
"I'm gonna have to explain what happened to my brothers." Mickey dropped his head back in frustration. "I fucking hate this!"  
"We can get through this," I said, running my thumb over his knuckles.  
"No." He shook his head vehemently. "Ian, this is too much. This is my shit. If I hadn't gotten you to go for the jog, this wouldn't have happened. This is my shit to deal with."  
"Are you... Are you breaking up with me?" I asked.  
"Yes." Mickey closed his eyes. "You shouldn't have to deal with this shit."  
"Mickey." I say on the edge of his bed, taking both his hands in mine. "Mickey. You dealt with all my shit. With all my bipolar, gay, life ruining shit. I did a fucking porno for gods sake. And you dealt with it. I kidnapped your baby. And you dealt with it. I can deal with this. And there is nothing you can say that will make me think otherwise."  
Mickey smiled in spite of himself. “Okay, Firecrotch. Okay.”


	6. IAN GALLAGHER HAS AN AMAZING DICK AND I, MICKEY MILKOVICH, CANNOT WAIT TO HAVE IT BURIED DEEP IN MY ASS!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I will still upload a chapter later this week

The hospital gave Mickey one of those guide sticks, which he kept banging against Lip’s shins “by accident”. It made me laugh, and I think he liked that. It also made Lip grumble, which he liked even more. He got the hang of it quickly, but still had some troubles going around corners. The concept of there being a couple of inches between the end of the stick and his body still seemed to be a hard on to grasp. The end of the stick would pass the corner, and he would immediately turn to go around, banging into the wall, door frame, or other obstruction.  
It annoyed the hell out of Mickey.  
One day, thirteen days after he had woken up, he threw the stick down, folding his arms and pouting like a child. “This fucking sucks!”  
I sighed, picked up the walking stick, and wrapped my arms around his tiny body. “I know you think it sucks, but we’ll get through it.”  
“Get through it?” Mickey sounded pissed,but he nuzzled his nose into the crook of my neck. “Ian, there isn’t anything to get through. This is forever. For the rest of my whole fucking life! The entirety of our relationship!”  
“You think I don’t know that?” I held him at an arm's distance, knowing full well he couldn’t see the disgruntled face I had on. It was a force of habit, though, to hold him like this when he’d said something degrading about himself. “I will always be here to help. You and me, okay?”  
Mickey bowed his head, nodding slightly. “Yeah, okay.”  
“Good.” I pulled him closer again, and he wrapped his arms around my waist. “Come on, my thug muffin, lets go back to your room.”  
Mickey sighed, nodded, and held out his hand. I took it, but he slipped it out of my grasp and frowned.  
“The goddamn stick, Gallagher,” he said. “I’m gonna make this on my own today.”  
We walked back to his room, now moved from the ICU, his stick clicking and clacking as we went.  
\---  
Mickey was discharged four days later, with two walking sticks, a pair of cheap sunglasses bought from the gift shop (seriously, who puts a gift shop in a hospital?), and a nearly terrified expression on his face.  
“It’ll be fine,” Mandy said to him, rubbing his arm which she had looped through her own. “We’ll have you home in no time, then you can be as bitchy as you want, and probably hit Iggy over the head with your blind person stick.”  
“Hey,” Mickey growled. “I can still here, you know. And I don’t like your tone.”  
“My caring, sisterly tone?” Mandy asked mockingly.  
“Yeah, it doesn’t fit you.” Mickey shook his head, reaching over to take my hand. Well, he grabbed my crotch at first, but I soon redirected his hand to mine. “Damn, Gallagher, can’t you let a blind man have one wish?”  
“When we get home,” I laughed. “I’d rather not walk down the streets of Chicago with your hand on my crotch.”  
“It’s a nice crotch, Firecrotch.” Mickey’s was wily.  
“Can you both stop saying crotch?” Mandy demanded. “It’s weird.”  
Mickey and I were silent.  
Then, “I’m holding you to that, Ian,” Mickey said.  
“What?” I asked.  
“I have gone more than two weeks without having that glorious dick in me, do not think you’re getting off so easily now that I’m blind.”  
“Mickey, maybe you should talk a little quieter about that,” I mumbled, looking around at incredulous passers-by. “We are in public.”  
Mickey pulled up short, dragging both me and Mandy to a stop.  
“What is it?” we both asked.  
Mickey let go of us, cup his hands around his mouth, and turned to face the downtown Chicago traffic. “IAN GALLAGHER HAS AN AMAZING DICK AND I, MICKEY MILKOVICH, CANNOT WAIT TO HAVE IT BURIED DEEP IN MY ASS!”  
The outburst was so shocking and out of character than Mandy and I stood silent.  
“You are so fucked up,” Mandy finally mumbled, turning back in the direction of the El. I took Mickey’s hand, and watched as he beamed down at the concrete, like it deserved his smile. His face lit up, despite the dark glasses, and he looked truly happy.  
On the train, Mickey sat down, yawned widely, and leaned against my shoulder. He was soon asleep, and the woman across from us smiled.  
“How long have you two been together?” she asked me.  
“About two years,” I answered, semi-truthfully. Mickey and I had been hooking up since I was fifteen, four years ago, but only when I was seventeen did he actually come out and say we were together.   
“You two are adorable,” she said. “My son was like you, too, but I lost him to cancer.”  
“Oh, I’m so sorry.” It was true, I was, but I felt slightly uncomfortable about this woman telling me something so personal. Mandy glanced down at me from her spot next to the railing.  
“It’s quite alright, dear,” the woman said. “Now, don’t take this the wrong way, but does he do drugs?”  
Occasionally, I thought. “No,” I said.  
“It’s just, the dark glasses,” she explained. “Why’s he wearing them on such an overcast day?”  
“Look, lady,” Mandy cut in. “I’m sure you’re super nice, but my brother is going through a tough time, and we’d rather not talk about it with a total stranger.”  
The old woman blushed and looked shocked. “Well, I never meant to… It’s just I…” She went silent. Mandy nodded, then tapped Mickey’s shoulder as we got to our stop, waking he man immediately.  
“What?” he whined.  
“Get up, shit head, we’re at our stop.” Mandy got off the train with a crowd.  
I stood, and pulled Mickey to his feet.  
“Ay, I can still stand up, army,” he muttered. “I ain’t incontinent.”  
“I think you meant incompetent,” I said.  
“Why? What does what I said mean?”  
“Incontinent is when you have no control over your bladder or bowels. You piss and shit yourself.”  
“Ew, gross.” Mickey shook his head, stopping as I paid the fee. “We could just jump it.”  
“You can barely walk without me, I’m not having you run just yet.”  
“You my fucking nurse now?”  
“Getting you back for the pussy nursing crap you did when I was first diagnosed.” I smiled brightly down at him. “And I am grinning at you smugly.”  
“Yeah, yeah, asswipe.” He twitched his nose, and then his ears. “Where’s Mandy gone?”  
“How’d you know she’s not here?”  
“I can’t smell her perfume,” Mickey said. “And she’s on her, uh… shark week, so she’s walking a little funny, and I can’t hear that anymore.”  
“How’d you know she’s on her period?” I was very confused. “She didn't tell you.”  
“She smells like it.” Mickey went red again. “Faintly.”  
“You develop superpowers or something?”  
“When you lose one sense, your others go into overdrive, trying to compensate.”  
“Oh.”  
We reached to front of the Milkovich house, the door slightly open, and Mandy was stood there, grinning like a maniac. She held her finger to her lips, making the shush motion, and went back inside.  
“We home?” Mickey asked.  
“Yeah,” I said. “We’re home.”


	7. I Don't Wanna Forget This

I led Mickey inside, hand on the crook of his elbow.   
"Why is it so fucking quiet?" he grumbled.  
I saw Mandy and Iggy stood in the living room, and a banner that read "WELCOME HOME MICKEY" in bright red letters.  
"Surprise!" the two other Milkovich children yelled.  
Mickey jumped, and his arm squeezed my fingers. "Jesus fuck!"  
"Welcome home bro!" Iggy yelled, coming over to clap him on the back. "Come and look at this new- ow, what the fuck?!"  
Mandy had slapped him, hard, around the back of his head. "Shut the fuck up, shit head, he's blind!"  
"You didn't have to hit me!"  
“You shouldn’t have brought up seeing!”  
In the midst of their yelling, Mickey tugged on my jacket.  
“What’s up?” I asked.  
“Can we just go to bed?” he asked, voice sounding small. “I’m fucking tired man.”  
“Of course.” I lead him through the house, careful to kick any obstacles out of the way. Mickey followed behind with a hand on my shoulder, his fingers warm through the fabric of my shirt.  
When we got to his room, I sat Mickey down on the bed, and pulled off my shirt and jeans, leaving myself in my boxers. Mickey had done the same, and was now laid back on the mattress. I got in next to him, and pulled the blanket up over both of us. He turned towards me, eyes blank and distant. He reached out with his right hand, and ran his fingers softly over my cheek and nose.  
“I don’t want to forget this,” he said. “I don’t want to forget what you look like.”  
I took his hand in mine, and kissed his palm. “I won’t let you,” I mumbled.  
Mickey smiled and his eyes watered. “Don’t let me forget.”  
\---  
I was awoken by a loud crash and a muffled curse. I stretched my arms out around me, and bolted out of bed when I felt that Mickey wasn’t there with me. I rushed to the living room, and then to the kitchen. Mickey was sat against the oven, hands clenched into tight fists by his sides. A pair of Iggy’s old work boots were scattered at his feet, the laces tangled in his toes.  
“Ian?” he asked.  
“Yeah,” I said, kneeling down beside him and wrapping him in my arms. “I’m right here.”  
“I didn’t wanna wake you up to get a glass of water.” Mickey was crying now, tears of frustration and anger pouring down his face. “I can’t fucking do anything!”  
He struck out at the floor with his fists, the slap of skin on linoleum pervading the quiet air. He did it again and again, before I could stop him, and his split the skin on the side of his hands, leaving bloody smears on the white tiles.  
“Mickey, stop, it’ll be okay,” I reassured.  
“No it fucking won’t, Ian!” He slumped against me, suddenly weak and limp. “None of this is okay.”  
“No.” I leaned back against the cabinet, my chin resting on the top of Mickey’s head. “No, it’s not okay. And it’s not fucking fair. But neither is what I went through. Neither is what I made you go through. Mickey, we go through so much shit every day and we don’t let it get us down. I told you before, and I’ll tell you again. We’re gonna fight. Me and you, we’ll learn things and we’ll become better at managing this, just like we manage what I have. Mickey, I love you, and your family loves you, and you are going to be okay.”  
Mickey was silent for a moment. Then, “Can we go back to bed?”  
“Do you still want that water?”  
“Yes.”  
I got him the water, threw Iggy’s work boots at his sleeping form on the living room sofa, and put Mickey’s hand back on my shoulder, leading him to the room.  
Later that night, when Mickey and I were situated in bed, he snuggled into me. He would deny it if I said it, but he snuggled into me.   
“Thanks, Gallagher.”  
“No problem, Mickey.”


	8. See, Ian, I told you that you could do better than Kash.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry this is super late.

Mickey learned the lay out of the Milkovich house pretty quickly. He started by counting the steps until he was in the living room, or the kitchen, and doing that until it became muscle memory. We didn’t leave the house much. Iggy and Colin took over the moving truck scam, and I went back to the club, much to Mickey’s dismay.  
“We need the money, Mick,” I said one afternoon.  
“I don’t want you coming home covered in body oil and troll sweat every night!” he snapped back. “I don’t trust the people in the club, Ian.”  
I smiled sadly at him. He reached out for my hand, which I provided, and he pulled my down onto our bed beside him. He traced his fingers over my cheek, then cupped the back of my neck.  
“I don’t want you to get hurt.” He hesitated for a second, I could see it in his face. “And I don’t want you slipping back into old habits.”  
I chuckled quietly. “Mickey, it’s just temporary.” I scooched forward to rest my forehead on his. “Until you find another job, I’m paying for both our shares of the bills. So I’ve got to have a well paying job.”  
“But at the Fairytale?”  
“Yes, Mickey." I kissed the tip of his nose, and stood up from the bed. “I have to get ready for work.”  
Mickey grumbled about old queens every time I had to go. Sometimes he offered to come with me, but that didn’t go too well when he could see, so I wasn’t going to try him at the club now. He understood, and would take walks when I was gone, trying to remember where everything was. He frequented the Kash and Grab again, but this time just have long conversations with Linda. She grew to like him.  
I stopped by one night on my way home from work, because it was open late and I needed a gatorade. The fluorescent lighting gave the pavement outside a warm glow, and it felt like stepping into some warmly lit safe haven. Which was strange after this being the place I’d been perved on the most before working at the White Swallow.  
“Sorry,” Linda called. “Store’s closed.”  
“Oh,” I called back. “Sorry.”  
“Ian!” I was startled to hear Mickey’s voice. “What are you doing here?”  
I walked to the back room, where Mickey was sat with Linda, guide stick neatly folded shut and placed in his pocket.   
“I came for a drink on my way home.”   
He smiled in the direction of my voice, and patted the seat next to him.  
“So it is true,” Linda said. She nodded and smiled at me. “See, Ian, I told you that you could do better than Kash.”  
I laughed, sitting next to Mickey and rubbing a hand over his arm. "Yeah. And I did."  
"Don't go getting gay on me now, Gallagher," Mickey said.  
"Too late for that."  
Linda smiled at us, opening her mouth to say something, but was interrupted by a large yawn. “Oh, boys, I think it’s time for me to go to bed. You should probably get going.”  
Mickey pushed me up, and then used my hand to pull himself up. Linda smiled at the two of us, and we were off home.  
“How was your shift?” he asked calmly.  
“Good.” I nodded, pulling him closer to avoid hitting a lamp post. “But I’ll tell you about it later. How was your day?”  
“I walked all the way to yours, and then realized that I don’t have a single route to get back to mine, so I had to call Iggy to come pick me up,” he explained, tone airy and light. “I’m fucking useless.”  
“No, you’re not,” I reassured, pushing open the front door to the Milkovich house. “Just getting used to new circumstances.”  
Iggy was sat in the living room, feet propped up on the dirty coffee table, weed smoke hanging around his head. He had a friend over, but he looked more stoned than Mount Rushmore, so I completely ignored him. That is, until I heard him whisper loudly to Iggy.  
“Dude,” he said. “Your brother’s hooked arms with a bro. He a fag?”  
Iggy just grunted, lifting a limp hand to scratch the back of his neck.  
“Should we pound him?”  
“Nah, man, they’re cool.” Iggy waved vaguely in our direction, nodding to himself.   
“But isn’t you dad gonna beat them?”  
“Nah, man, he’s in jail.”  
Mickey shook his head, just pulling me in the direction of our room. He shouldered the door open, and started to strip off his clothes. I closed the door behind me, pulling my tee-shirt over my head, unbuckling my belt and dropping my jeans to the floor. Mickey was slowly working on the buttons of his shirt, speaking to me casually over his shoulder. “So why did you want to talk to me later about work?”  
I put my hands on his hips, rubbing over the smooth skin just above the waistline of his boxers. I pressed my chest to his back, softly grinding against his ass. I kissed his neck, smiling as a shudder went through him. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you.” I slid my hands to his chest, rubbing my thumbs over his steadily hardening nipples. “Dancing with a hard on.” He let out a breathy chuckle. “It’s not that easy, but the patrons seem to like it.”  
“Ian,” he moaned, leaning back into me. “Such a tease.”  
I smiled against his neck again, and turned him towards the bed, pushing him down onto it. The front of his boxers was tented, and he soon removed them, erection bobbing up to lay curved against his hip.  
“How we gonna do this?” he asked. “Face to face or bareback?”  
“What ever would make you the most comfortable.” I slipped out of my shorts, a hand reaching down to give my own hard on a gentle tug.  
“I wanna fuck dirty.” Mickey smirked, propping himself up on his elbows. “You in?”  
“Oh, you know I am.” I knelt on the edge of the bed, legs on either side of Mickey’s. I bent to kiss him, but thought of something better, and hopped off the bed. I knelt between his legs, and watched his face turn into a frown.  
“What are you doing?” he asked.  
“Nothin’.” I leaned forward again, and ran my tongue up the underside of his cock, causing him to throw his head back in a moan. I smiled and took the the head into my mouth, bobbing twice, then swallowing him into my mouth, hands on his hips. Mickey moaned beautifully, his dark haired head resting against cream white sheets.  
“Iannn..” He ran a hand through my hair, his hips bucking slightly.   
I pulled away, letting out a lewd popping sound, before kissing up his stomach. I licked a stripe up his neck, latching on with my teeth. He moaned again, voice nearly raised to a whine. He scratched his nails down my back, thrusting his hips up into mine, silently pleading for more. His eyes were screwed shut, lips slightly parted as he panted.  
“Iannn, pleaaaaseee….!”   
I smirked, kissing the red mark I had left, and reached for the lube on the bedside table. Mickey propped himself up on his elbows, breathing heavily and smiling.  
“You gonna fuck me?” he asked, a mockery of sincerity.  
“Well, only if you want me to.” I crawled back over him, pulling his legs around my waist.   
He laughed, flopping back against the mattress. Mickey opened his mouth to say something when I circled a lubed finger around his puckering hole, and he let out a groan that would have caused Iggy to come storming in if he weren’t high as fucking balls. Slipping a finger in, I felt the ring of muscles contract around me, and I waited until Mickey relaxed to move it. In went two more fingers, and Mickey was quivering, holding onto my arms. I loved seeing him like that. So vulnerable.  
“Quit your staring and get in me, Firecrotch,” he grunted, nails biting into my arms.  
I chuckled, he knew me so well, and did as I was told. He let out a grunt of pleasure as I slid slowly into him, pumping my hips shallowly, until Mickey hooked his legs further around my hips, digging his heels into the small of my back. I went faster, and harder, and soon he was moaning with every breath.   
“I’m gonna - fucking shit!” he panted out. “I’m gonna cum!”  
“Cum, Mickey,” I pleaded. “Fucking hell, cum!”  
He shot his load between our stomachs, thick pearly white ribbons, and he stiffened beneath me, gasping for breath. I continued to thrust into him, chasing down my own orgasm, before I was cumming, too. Mickey groaned out in ecstasy, rocking his hips up.  
“Iaaannnn….” he moaned, hands carding softly through my hair. “Oh, Ian…”  
My arms gave way, and I crumpled on top of him, chest heaving.  
“Jesus,” Mickey chuckled. “You’re gonna crush me…”  
I laughed, too, and pulled out of him, rolling to the side.  
“Oh, I just wanna lay here forever,” Mickey mumbled, resting the back of his hand against my ribs. “In this feeling.”  
“You’re gonna leak all over the sheets,” I protested, laughing.  
“Hey, I’m not the one that made you cum inside of me.” He prodded my stomach, but sat up and stood on wobbly legs. “Help me to the bathroom.”  
“You know the way.” But I got up and way, pulling him along behind me.  
“Yeah, but we can have a shower together and go for round two.”  
And that we did.


	9. Shut the fuck up, Firecrotch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoilers for The Song of Achilles, which is an amazing book, btw. I don't have any rights to The Song of Achilles.

It took a while for Mickey to really feel comfortable again. I mean, sure, he got used to the layout of the house, and he got used to the walk to the Kash and Grab, but it wasn’t like he was ecstatic about his situation. I didn’t even notice at first when things started getting less complicated to him. For weeks he’d ask me to walk him to the bathroom, even though he knew the way, just to make sure nothing was in the path. He wouldn’t take off his new glasses, even in front of me. He said he didn’t want me to see him and not be able to see me. Things were changing about him slowly though, and I first noticed it when we were sat in bed one night.  
“Read something,” Mickey said suddenly, resting his head on my shoulder. The cold arm of his glasses had been warmed by my skin, but I could still feel it.  
“I’m half way through the book, but I could restart it if you want,” I said.  
“No.” He rubbed his thumb over his nose. “Just continue from where you are.”  
“ “Achilles was looking at me. “Your hair never quite lies flat, here.” He touched my head, just behind my ear. “I don’t think I’ve ever told you how I like it.”  
My scalp prickled where his fingers had been. “You haven’t,” I said.  
“I should have.” His hand drifted down to the vee at the base of my throat, drew softly across the pulse. “What about this? Have I told you what I think of this, just here?”  
“No,” I said.  
“This surely then.” His hand moved across the muscles of my chest; my skin warmed beneath it. “Have I told you of this?”  
“That you have told me.” My breath caught a little as I spoke.  
“And what of this?” His hand lingered over my hips, drew down the line of my thigh. “Have I spoken of it?”  
“You have.”  
“And this? Surely I would not have forgotten this.” His cat’s smile. “Tell me I did not.”  
“You did not.”  
“There is this too.” His hand was ceaseless now. “I know I have told you of this.”  
I closed my eyes. “Tell me again,” I said.”,” I read, scooching down further in the bed.  
“Is this a porno book, Ian?” Mickey asked in mock shock.  
“Haha. No.” I bumped his head with mine. “That would be called erotica.”  
“What’s this book called?”  
“The Song of Achilles.” I placed my thin bookmark between the pages and closed the book. “It’s really good. I think you’d like it.”  
“Okay.” Mickey reached up and removed his glasses, putting them on the bedside table. “Then start from the beginning.”  
I smiled. “Okay.”  
\---  
Later that night, well, really like early the next morning, Mickey was still listening to me read, and a single tear rolled down his cheek.  
““In the darkness, two shadows, reaching through the hopeless, heavy dusk. Their hands meet, and light spills in a flood like a hundred golden urns pouring out of the sun.”,” I finished. I closed the book, put it down on the bedside table on my side of the bed, and leaned down to kiss Mickey’s forehead. Sometime during the night he had moved to rest his head in my lap.  
“Is that it?” he asked. “That’s the end?”  
“Yeah,” I answered. “That’s the end.”  
“I liked it.”  
I smiled against his forehead. “Once again I reign triumphant.”  
“Yeah, yeah, loser.” Mickey sat up, stretching his arms over his head. “What time is it?”  
“Um…” I looked over to the alarm clock, and groaned internally. “Shit, it’s four in the morning.”  
“Oh.” Mickey laid down next to me, faced my way. “Well, we can talk until you fall asleep.”  
“Aren’t you tired?”  
“Nope. I couldn’t stay awake during the day. I heard a commercial about it in TLC when Mandy was watching Four Weddings. It’s called non-24 hours or something.”  
“Oh. What is it?”  
“It’s because I can’t perceive light so I don’t have a sleep schedule in me anymore.” He bit his bottom lip, a nervous tick. “It fucks up my sleep.”  
I stroked my thumb down the side of his face. “I’m sorry.”  
He shrugged. “Nothing you can do about it.”  
“Well, I could make sure that you stay awake all day.” I yawned. “And then make you sleep when I sleep.” I pulled him closer, resting my chin on the top of his head. “Try get some sleep now.”  
“Okay.”  
We were silent again, and I was nearly lulled to sleep by the smooth, soft sounds of his breathing.  
“Wait,” I said, opening my eyes. “Mandy was working at noon.”  
“Yeah?” Mickey asked. “And?”  
“And, Four Weddings is on at noon.”  
“How do you know this?”  
“Fiona and Debs would watch it when they ate lunch sometimes. I’d occasionally join in.”  
“You are so gay.”  
“Yeah, but you were listening to it at noon.”  
“And?”  
“Mandy was at work at noon.”  
Mickey was blushing beet red. “What are you suggesting, Ian?”  
“I’m suggesting that you lied to me and that you were listening to it on your own.”  
Fuck, Mickey really could go red.  
“So what if I was? I didn’t have any better shit to do.”  
I chuckled, closing my eyes again and snuggling closer to him. “I just think that’s really cute.”  
“Shut the fuck up, Firecrotch.”


	10. We Always Do?

It took Mickey almost a year to learn how to read braille. He didn't want to, he put up a fuss, but I eventually got him to, with a little help from some banana pancakes and lots a maple syrup. The syrup wasn't on the pancakes. He stayed up late, fingers running over those little bumps, and got up early, hitting the books with even more vigor. It was funny, after all the protesting he'd done, that Mickey really seemed to enjoy it. It wasn't as if suddenly Mickey was a whole new person, or as if Mickey changed in any way, but it was nice to see him doing something to better his situation.

"Hi," he said as I walked into the house. "How were the geriatric viagroids?"

"How do you always know it's me?" I asked.

"It's like that quote, from that book you read me. 'I could recognize him by touch alone, by smell; I would know him blind, by the way his breaths came and his feet struck the earth. I would know him in death, at the end of the world.'," Mickey said.

"Aw, and you pick on me for being gay." I ruffled his hair when I reached the couch he was sat on, and kissed the crown his head. "How was your day?"

"Mandy managed to get me some dr. Seuss books in braille, and I've been reading those all day." Mickey smiled up at me, and puckered his lips slightly, raising an eyebrow.

I chuckled and leaned down, kissing him. He smiled against my lips, hand reaching up to cup the hinge of my jaw.

"How'd she manage to get braille books?" I asked against his lips.

Mickey smirked. "She told me not to ask."

I laughed. “Okay.” I sat next to him and shuffled through the mail. There was a letter from the University of Chicago, and it was addressed to me. “I wonder why they sent me this?”

“Who?” Mickey asked, fingers still gliding over his bumps.

“University of Chicago.”

“Because I got Mandy to send them your SAT results.” Mickey smiled. “Seeing as you went back to school and all that shit, I thought you’d want to go to college.”

I chuckled and leaned forward to kiss Mickey’s cheek. “You didn’t need to.”

“No, but I know how much you wanted to go to college before all this shit, so I thought, why not? Can’t hurt.” He paused for a second, brow furrowed. “So? Do they like you?”

“It’s just a letter to invite me to take a campus tour.”

“Okay, then we’ll do that some time soon. Get you in.”

“Mickey…” I sighed. “It’s too much. With the bills and food and my meds, we can’t-”

“Don’t tell me what I can and can’t do.” Mickey shook his head, and reached out for my hand. I gave it to him. “Do you want this?”

“Yes.” 

“Then we’ll do this. Let me worry about all that other shit. I can get a job, have Iggy actually start to chip in with the bills, Mandy can get a job, too. We’ll figure this out.” He smiled in my general direction. “We always do.”


	11. A Good Teacher

Mickey pushed and pushed until I applied to the University. And I actually got in. Like Lip, I had work study, and government loans, and a bunch of other shit that would keep me in debt until I was ninety two, but I got in. Mickey smirked and patted me on the shoulder, and we may have had celebratory sex, but it was worth it just to see him smile. Mickey was proud of me, for the work that he did, and I still don’t know how to thank him to this very day.

It was half way through my third year when Mickey got into another accident. Iggy had been driving, and they had lost control of the car on some black ice. They ended up fine, but Mickey banged his head pretty bad off the dashboard, and was told not to do any extraneous labour for three months. He shrugged, stating, “I don’t any way.” Mickey made a quick recovery, and was soon back in the search of jobs that a blind person could do. He found a very good paying job as a teacher, actually. He taught braille to little kids and adults alike, and it made him very happy. Mickey was a good teacher.

“You’re a good teacher,” I told him one day. “A very good teacher. You’ve taught me so much.”

“I ain’t taught you shit, Gallagher,” Mickey laughed.

“You have.” I smiled against his shoulder.

“Oh, yeah?” He raised an eyebrow. “What have I taught you?”

I kissed the hinge of his jaw, and felt him shudder. “That you like being kissed here.” I moved so I was knelt over him, hands on his shoulders. I kissed the base of his throat. “And here.” I shuffled down and kissed over his left nipple. “Here.” I moved to the right, and flicked my tongue over the hardening nub. “Here.” I kissed down to his stomach, hands on his chest, pinching his nipples. I kissed his side, biting down softly. “That you love it when I leave marks on your skin.” I slipped my legs between his, nuzzling the inside of his right thigh. “How sensitive your legs are.” I nipped at the skin there, running my hands down his stomach. “And….” I sat up, a wicked grin on my face. “How ticklish you are!” I attacked his sides, and Mickey flailed and writhed beneath me, laughing and yelling at me.

“You fucker!” Mickey hooked his arm around my neck, pulling me down and rolling onto me. “You think you’re so funny, huh, tough guy?” He was out of breath, his sides heaving. “Don’t you?”

“I think you’re sexy,” I purred. 

“Oh, yeah?” Mickey smirked. “How sexy do you think I’ll be if I don’t let you fuck me for a week?”

I stilled. “You wouldn’t?”

“Oh, I would.”

Mickey did, but since I was away most nights at school, it didn’t make much difference. What did make a difference, though, is that he kept up the “no sex” thing until summer came around.

“That way,” he explained when I asked over the phone one night, “it’ll be that much better when you get back for that first night.”

“Mickey, you’re killing me,” I moaned. “I keep wanting to fuck you so hard!”

Mickey laughed down the phone. “Well, same on this end.”

“Oh, yeah, tell me more about your end,” I panted exaggeratedly.

“You’re a prick.” Mickey chuckled a little, then yawned. “Anyway, I gotta go to bed. See you on saturday?”

“Yeah.” I smiled to the ceiling. “See you saturday.”


	12. I Can See That

Mickey was stood with my family and Mandy when I came out of the graduation arena. He looked happier than I’d seen him in a long while, grinning from ear to ear.

“You did it!” Fiona yelled as she wrapped her arms around me. “You did it!”

Everyone piled into the hug except Mickey, who just stood and smiled. I fought off my beaming relatives and went over to hug him.

“Hey,” I said, wrapping my arms around his shoulders.

“You made it,” he whispered. “I knew you could.”

“I’m so happy.” Mickey’s arms were warm around my waist, his nose warm against my neck. “I’m so fucking happy.”

“I can see that.” Mickey rest his forehead against mine.

“Ha ha.”

“No, Ian.” Mickey’s eyes moved, and stared directly into mine. “I can see that. I can see you.”

“What?” I stepped back, and his eyes followed me, his smile growing brighter. “What?”

“It’s been coming back since Iggy got T-boned.” He shrugged. “I wanted to surprise you.”

“How long have you been able to?”

Fiona and the rest were gathered around us, all of them smiling at me.

“You all knew?” I looked around at them. 

Lip shrugged. “Yeah.”

“But the doctor said…?”

“The doctor said it was very unlikely,” Mickey explained, pulling me closer. “But he also said, the Mandy after the last crash, that the next crash could either make it worse or better, he couldn’t be certain.” Mickey shrugged as he wrapped his arms around my waist again. 

I hugged him tightly. “ I love you, you jackass.”

“I love you, too.”


End file.
